A Red, Red Rose-Robert Burns 1759-1796, Poem, 1794

O my Luve's like a red,
red rose,
That's newly sprung in
June:
O my Luve's like the
 melodie,
That's sweetly played in
tune.

As fair art thou, my
bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still,
my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry,
my dear,
And the rocks melt wi'
the sun;
And I will luve thee still,
my dear,
While the sands o' life
shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my
only Luve!
And fare-thee weel, a
while!
And I will come again,
my Luve,
Tho' 'twere ten thousand
mile!